


One More Cup of Coffee

by Indybaggins



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Angst, F/F, Friendship/Love, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-02
Updated: 2009-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indybaggins/pseuds/Indybaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Femme slash! Dark, because the best loves are always the cruel ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Cup of Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/indybaggins/media/15bestwives.png.html)   
>    
>  [](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/indybaggins/media/21bestunusual.png.html)   
> 

 

 

Meeting her had been inevitable. Liking her too. 

 

Deb is Ryan’s boss in Second City, and it’s Ryan who introduces them that evening. When Pat shakes Deb’s hand and sees her smile she knows everything she had ever wanted to know about Deb; that she seems kind and, more importantly, isn’t Ryan’s type.

A couple years later Deb will tell her that Ryan fucked her once in the dressing room backstage. That it didn’t mean anything, and that it was mediocre at best. 

But on this first night, there is nothing tying them together yet, just the handshake that maybe lingers a little too long, leaves time for Pat to feel Deb’s round fingertips move languidly across her wrist. 

Deb eventually says, “She’s hot, Ryan,” says it like she’s surprised, and Pat forgets to be ashamed and just returns Deb’s smile because yes, damn right she is. At least, that’s how Pat will remember it, together with her heart beating too heavily right then, as if she’d been startled into something. 

She replies, “Thank you,” and Deb lets go of her hand, but lingers close. They talk about men for the next two hours while Ryan goes off with Colin, comes back again, chats up a blushing blonde at the bar, goes to pee and then returns with a hickey and a stain on his pants. 

Pat has a great time. 

 

 

Deb is beautiful. Which is strange, because it takes Pat at least several months to consciously think of her as such. Deb isn’t good-looking in the way that Ryan’s fucks -male or female- usually are (a little demure, pleasantly surprised at his attention), which might be what fooled her, Pat thinks. 

Deb is striking in a way that seems entirely based on confidence. She only wears baggy shirts and pants and the most practical loafers, but tops it all off with a shade of lipstick that belongs on a fifties movie star. She would be stunning in black and white, and seems to know it.

Deb is loud and bold and mostly, after that very first remark, makes her laugh, and that is what dominates Pat’s memories of those early days. Evenings in smoke-filled bars with fast and witty conversation shooting over the table, Ryan and Deb often entangling in a fight of equals neither of them want lose, and Colin sitting there shyly, not even vaguely belonging. 

After that first night, Deb seeks her out every time they are in a room together, and Pat invites her closer. She’s aware of what she’s doing, but she longs for it, to be daring for once. No one has ever stretched her mind the way Deb does, moving the conversation from plain silly to philosophical, from elusive to frank, from hateful to loving in a matter of mere minutes, expecting a reaction from Pat to each and every turn. She loves it. 

How that ever evolved into loving Deb, or if she does, she doesn’t know. There is an undefined something there, has been there from the beginning. A crackling in the air a bit short of electricity that makes her shiver when Deb slowly traces her hand over her lower back when they hug goodbye. But it seems ignorable. 

 

 

Deb is the first woman Pat ever kisses. 

The attraction blows into a full affair on a rainy day in mid October. The thought of how fucking innocent she is makes her anger feel fierce right then, thrumming beneath her skin, and she makes the first move. She tells Deb she’s going to change in the bathroom, and isn’t surprised when Deb follows her inside. 

Pat pulls off her red sweater, steps out of her shoes and her plaid skirt, and Deb (like a victory) places one hand on her naked side and trails the other longingly under the edge of her bra. Pat shivers, the ghost of Deb’s breath hot on her cold skin, and turns around to kiss her. 

Their second kiss is in the alley outside the same bathroom, wet with rain water dripping over their faces, cold and gentle, and that’s the only moment she’ll ever remember as romantic. An escape. 

They end up between the colorful sheets of Deb’s bed, Deb’s wet hair spread around her face like a halo, and when Pat tries to give her a chaste and lingering kiss afterwards, Deb laughs and draws her into a real one, with tongue and teeth, the reality of it all stuck somewhere between a playful hug and a real seduction. 

Pat makes it home that night, although barely, but Ryan doesn’t even wake up when she sneaks into bed next to him still smelling like Deb. If it’s wrong it doesn’t feel like it. 

 

It goes on for a couple weeks, and there’s nothing _sensitive_ about it. It’s sex, with hard and fast kisses and messy orgasms in public bathrooms, and it’s discovery, with slow and sensual tickling back in Deb’s bed. She feels liberated, free to do whatever the hell she pleases, and, like Deb, she refuses to feel guilty for it.

 

 

Deb never asks her to love her. They never talk about it, never claim to be anything to each other but friends. So when Ryan says it’s time to move to L.A. Pat follows him instead of her, because he asks her to. 

A couple months later she regrets it, especially with Deb’s voice straining under the word “pregnant”, and, later that week, “marry Colin”. 

But Pat stays, breaking through the sheen of dreams Deb had filled her body with, back to what is real. 

 

 

In the next couple years, she fucks a handful of women. 

She can never really tell which ones are and which ones aren’t and she doesn’t have the time to find out, so she picks the obvious ones. Short hair, piercings and tattoos, masculine but always with gentle eyes. She wants to love them. 

She grabs their breasts, bites their legs, licks and sucks and makes them come the best she can. Whatever they give her in return has stopped mattering a long time ago, because she always goes back to her husband, the only one that will never change. 

 

 

She doesn’t touch Deb again until fifteen years later. Which says a lot, Pat thinks, although Deb never once had done her the courtesy of talking to her after L.A. without either of their husbands present. 

 

Until tonight.

Pat is pregnant, again, the third one but an accident for the first time. She’s annoyed at the possessive hand Ryan has had at her back all night, tired and sad in a deep all-encompassing way, too old for this shit. She’s sitting in a corner, not drinking but definitely thinking about it. 

And then Deb, Deb who has only grown more regal with age, comes over and scoops her up in a gentle how-are-you that probably never was meant to convey anything, but it does to her right then, and abruptly she _wants it_ again. 

So Pat lets her land slide down towards Deb’s ass and pinches. 

Deb stiffens, which is satisfying in its own way, and then looks at her in complete shock, like she doesn’t even _remember_. Pat looks her in the eyes, and laughs, loud.

After a second Deb laughs too, more relieved than anything, but Pat doesn’t want that, not relief, not now, so she gets up, tangles her hand in Deb’s hair and presses a hard, wet kiss on the corner of her mouth. 

Deb looks weary while she pulls away and scans the room for Colin. 

She won’t find him, Pat knows, because Ryan is probably off somewhere fucking him, or the other way around- she didn’t quite care anymore. 

So she looks at Deb’s still vulgarly beautiful figure, and says, “Drive me home?” 

She thinks they’ll start making out in the car, or maybe a quickie in the parking lot, that she'll smear Deb’s lipstick until she doesn’t dare to come inside anymore, but Deb actually takes her home. 

They fuck in Ryan’s bed, and that’s a first, for both of them. Deb trails her fingers along the swelling of her belly, and Pat grabs her hand and holds it up over their heads. Don’t touch. 

Deb tries to kiss her, but Pat digs her nails in Deb’s soft sides until she lets go, and sucks several reddish marks on Deb’s pale skin in return. Deb doesn’t complain and seems to get it, gets off on it while breathing wetly into her neck, moaning her name. It’s savage, hard and fast, they bang against the headboard and almost fall of the mattress, neither of them backing down. Eventually Pat clenches down on Deb’s fingers, the shudders of her orgasm slamming through her, leaving her panting on the bed. 

It’s great. It’s revenge. 

 

 

But Deb doesn’t leave. 

When it’s quiet again, a chill creeping over their naked bodies, sweat drying, Deb gets up, silently gets back into her clothes, but instead of leaving goes to the bathroom. Putters around in the kitchen. Pat gathers the covers around her and tries to lie still, even her fast breaths out so that she can pretend to be asleep if, no when, Deb comes back with an apology she doesn’t want to hear. 

She closes her eyes when Deb’s shadow places a cup of coffee on the nightstand (she can smell it, bitter and too strong) but opens them again to see Deb look through one of Ryan’s discarded pants and find a pack of cigarettes as if she knew they were there. 

Pat would never admit to it, but she’s nervous when Deb lies down next to her and lights a cigarette. She wants to know now. She wants to ask, ‘Are you still fucking Ryan?’ or, ‘Did you ever love me?’ but instead she sits up and takes a sip of the coffee. It’s too hot. 

They sit silently for a couple minutes more, Pat’s heart beating fast in her throat, until Deb says towards the ceiling, “You know, I hate men. Really hate them.” 

And Pat balances the cup on her stomach and carefully tries out the words, “Me too.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
